


Up The Ante

by ktbl



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Deadlock Jesse McCree, F/M, Frottage, Kinktober 2020, Smut, Teasing, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:26:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27015724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktbl/pseuds/ktbl
Summary: Ashe and McCree are out one night playing pool and Ashe works her hardest to drive him over the edge. They make it into a back room and not much further.-Kinktober 2020, Day 15: teasing
Relationships: Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe/Jesse McCree
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21
Collections: Kinktober 2020





	Up The Ante

Ashe _has_ to know what she is doing to him, with those damn black pants and the fact that he can see pale skin where her white shirt has rucked up at the back. She leans over the pool table, and Jesse McCree envies whoever it is who has eyes down the front of that shirt. He considers moving, but the view of her ass filling out the pants makes it too damn good to resist. She’s been doing this all night to him, and he is about ready to die. Nobody should be this mean, but then, there’s nobody like Liz.

“You gonna shoot or just stand there all night, Ashe?”

“I’m linin’ up my shot,” she replies lazily, not even glancing over her shoulder. She shifts a little, leans forward even more, and then straightens up. She angles her cue, props her free hand in place, and slides her hand gently down the wooden shaft to find the sweet spot. That curve and smooth movements remind him of similar gestures, and the blood starts drawing from his brain and heading south. A few tiny shifts of her stance, each one apparently requiring her to wiggle her ass in his direction. He wants to get his hands on that ass, slide his hands into her pockets, feel her muscle under his fingers.

If this was not a public pool hall, there was a shot he’d be trying to line up, with her bent over the table like that, and they both know it. They did it once at the table back at the hideout, and the thought of her white hair across the green felt and the squeaks she made as he slid into her… He reaches down to adjust the fit of his jeans, and Ashe turns to look at him as he does. A coy smile parts her lips; she’s got a sixth sense for him.

“Playing a little pocket pool while you wait, Jesse?”

“Swear to God, Ashe,” he growls, and she winks playfully. She turns to focus on the table again, widening her stance invitingly and finding the right angle. If this was not a public place… Jesse can feel his jaw tight and is damn sure she can hear his teeth grinding. She slides her hand back into position, curving her hand around it and using her left hand as the bridge. Another wiggle and she pulls back her arm abruptly, thrusting it forward to get the right speed.

Jesse hears the balls move more than sees them, the click-click-click of connection and the sound of rolling and hitting the cushion a distraction. He wants to just watch her, enjoying the way her body moves as she follows through, all of her attention on the shot. Once the balls have settled, Ashe straightens up again and turns, a lazy smile bowing her lips.

“All yours, Jesse.”

“I worry when you say it so nice, Ashe.” He tips his hat back a little, the better to see her in the shitty lighting of the pool hall. He looks at the table, and then back to her.

“You left me with the impossible shot.” He stares at the table, the glaring white of the cue ball and the mocking positions of the other balls, none of his solids where they would be for an easy, clear shot. She’s left him a slight chance of a win, but he’s going to have to apply every bit of geometry he should have learned in school and didn’t, over the next few plays.

“Want to forfeit, then?” Her lips pull up in a wider smile, and he snorts.

“Like hell I’ll forfeit. Winner claims one, though.”

“Aww, decide we’re not playin’ for cash, then?” She purses her lips, and Jesse loves what it does to her face, but is just as worried about what wheels her mind is turning.

“Oh, we’ll still play for cash. But maybe up the ante a little. What do you think about that?” He leans on the edge of the pool table, chalking his cue. Her eyes are on his fingers, and he winks at her, setting the little blue cube back on the edge of the table.

“Sure.” And she says it in a way that says she knows exactly what he’s thinking. Her eyes flick to the battered back room door at the far end of the pool hall, and raises a single eyebrow. “Shot’s yours. Don’t choke up.”

“I’m not plannin’ on it.” He tips his hat and winks, and eyes the pool table, checks his angle and makes the shot almost without thinking. He hears the click of the cue ball hitting its target, the heavier thuds as balls move, and realizes he’s closed his eyes as the scene plays out. He opens them just in time to suck in air through his teeth at his pure bad luck.

The ball almost goes in, a cliffhanger that sits on the edge of the pocket teasing him mercilessly. Ashe crosses her arms beneath her breasts, and he sucks air in again for an entirely different reason, watching the rounded curves push up in the open vee of her blouse.

“I’d almost think you threw that, if I didn’t know any better.” She smirks. “You left me a dead combination, Jesse McCree. Kind of you.”

“I know how to treat a lady,” he replies, shaking his head. Ashe does have a shot - a good one - and he moves around the table to watch her from a different angle. She lines up her shot again with a cool professionalism, eyes narrowing to slits as she checks her angles, makes a few halfhearted shifts of the cue on her left hand as a bridge. He can see straight down her shirt and to the pale lace of her bra. She looks up at him and he sees the tip of her tongue wet her lips, and that little smile tug at her mouth as she takes her shot. The balls connect, one hitting another, bouncing off the cushion, and the striped ball she was planning for sinks into the side pocket.

She arches both her eyebrows. There are a handful of solid balls left on the table, but every stripe is in. If she can hit the 8-ball in, Ashe wins - and, Jesse thinks, he just might win too. She walks around the table slowly, pausing in front of Jesse. She leans over the table and he walks up behind her, putting his hands on the rail on either side of her.

“How long you gonna draw this out, Ashe?”

“How long I gotta?” She pushes back into him, and she’s got to be able to feel how hard he is in his jeans. He drops his hands onto her waist and rocks into her once. She tips her head back as she breathes in deeply. He moves one hand over her ass to the seam of her pants, rubbing his hand along the space between her thighs. She makes a sound of frustration as he abruptly steps away. “Now that just ain’t fair.”

“Never said I was.”

“Fuck you, McCree.” Ashe lines up the eight ball. “Eight ball, corner pocket, right there.” She sinks the ball with barely a movement of the cue. Jesse huffs; he’s annoyed, but he can’t bring himself to be mad.

“Well, there we go, then. What’re you plannin’, Ashe?”

“Ashe and McCree, back room.” She rolls the rest of the balls into the pockets for the automated table to reset, and Jesse replaces the two cue sticks, his eyes on Ashe. He is right behind her as they cross the room, and the door closes behind them with a satisfying thunk. Ashe pushes right on into another room, a less used storage closet, and this one she locks once they’re both inside.

“God, you’re a fuckin’ tease.” He reaches for her as she flicks the light switch, the light fizzing and popping and humming dully. It throws little light, but just enough to let him see the pale bloom of her skin and the shadowed valley between her breasts. His mouth crashes together with hers, two hormonal eighteen year olds with impulse control problems. Their tongues slip and slide against each other, and McCree drags her lower lip into his mouth, sucking on it. Ashe slides her palm over the bulge in his jeans, rubbing it against him. He can’t hold in the groan, and he can feel her grinning.

“You doin’ okay?”

“Liz, I swear you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Now, that ain’t nice.” She rubs him again, palming hard. He drops his head down towards her breasts, kissing their curves, nipping gently on each of them. Ashe reaches for the back of his head, fingers sliding up his neck and under his hat to tangle through his hair. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Ain’t said you’re gonna be the one that kills me, but wouldn’t put it past you.” He nips again, and then leans up to kiss her again. They stumble backwards, joined at the mouth, until McCree is sitting spread-legged on a crate, and Ashe straddles one of his thighs. He grabs her shirt collar, and then his fingers work their way down her smooth skin. There isn’t anywhere for a callus to catch, and his fingertips keep moving downwards until they find the lace of her bra, and then the buttons on her shirt. He works another one open, and then a second, just enough to see the little rhinestone sparkle between the cups on the band. He reaches to peel the lace away, and Ashe swats his hands away again.

“Not so fast there. I won the game, I get the money - _and_ the forfeit. I’m gonna make you squirm.” She smirks, and rubs herself along his thigh. He can see the pink creeping into her cheeks, and the way she tips her head back lets the shadows play on her neck. He can see the blood start pounding, and she works herself along his thigh. McCree’s hands settle on her waist as she rubs herself back and forth. He tries to reach down but she bats his hands away again.

“That ain’t fair, and you know it. I want to make you go that color,” he grumbles as her pupils widen. Ashe just smiles at him, biting down on her lower lip. He knows what she’s doing and it’s driving him crazy that he can’t get his hands on her, down her pants. She’s got to be wet; she’s easy to stir up, and anything that gets her clit going makes her fall apart. He tries to sneak one hand around, unfasten her pants and slip his hand in, but she smacks him in the shoulder. He groans again, watching her cheeks go pinker, and he has to shift his position because his dick is hard as a rock and this is shortly going to be the most damn uncomfortable he’s been in weeks. Months, maybe.

“Got a problem?” Her voice is throaty and she looks at him through slitted eyes, that crimson gaze pinning him in place.

“You’re askin’ a hell of a lot of me, Liz. Fuck, lemme just get my hands on you. Let me get you off.” He kisses the underside of her chin, the soft place beneath her jaw, and can feel her heartbeat racing. “Don’t have a lot of patience.”

“Jesse McCree, going to rush things?” Her voice is arch as she grinds herself on his leg, and when he drops one hand down to intercept her, she lets him. He plants his thumb in front to rub her clit and give her more friction against his fingers. She moans, loud and long, and he grins with satisfaction.

“You’re teasin’ yourself as much as me.” He rubs at her as she rubs against him, and one of her hands palms his dick again through his pants. “Keep this up and I’m gonna be walkin’ out of here with a mess in my jeans.”

“Can’t have that. Make it back to the hideout and I’ll make it worth your while.” She grinds down against his thumb and he kisses her again, looking for a marginal distraction and some kind of relief. Ashe tastes like Ashe, hot-blooded and the faint taste of beer back in the corners. He can chase the one pull she took of his cigar, the lingering smoke hiding in the corners of her mouth. He reaches up and squeezes one of her breasts, thumb flicking over her nipple, grabbing and squeezing. She rubs against him harder, hips jerking in a stutter-stop that speeds up and gets more forceful, her own hand palming the fabric of his jeans and almost taking the edge off.

He can feel her unzip the fly of his pants with that hand, fingers dipping in and brushing against his boxers, stroking his shaft through the fabric. He makes a choked sound and blood rushes through his ears like one of the desert thunderstorms.

“Make it back to the hideout, huh? Like you’re gonna?” He makes a scoffing noise. “God, Liz…”

“Damn it, I can’t wait.” Her voice is breathless and she stands up, pulling her hand away. He can see the wet spot on his pants from her, and she pushes down her pants and leans against the wall, planting her hands on it. “Fuck me, Jesse.”

“With pleasure,” he says, undoing his belt and pushing his own clothes just far enough down to free his dick. He reaches for the black lace thong she’s wearing, pushes it aside and dips a finger into her just for a moment. She’s hot and almost dripping; they’re both more than ready. He pushes in, the head rubbing against the sensitive nerve-lined walls of her, and Ashe pushes back.

It’s his turn to tease - not like he’s got much willpower for it - and manages a few long, slow thrusts, pushing in inch by inch and pulling back out. Enough to watch Ashe writhe, let him get one of his hands on the pale globe of her ass and hold her still when she tries to follow his movements. The storeroom light flickers as he picks up his pace, and she moans - not particularly quietly. He likes it when she gets loud; she’s never, ever been the quiet type, and he hopes to hell no one knocks on the door while he’s balls deep in her. Might almost be as bad as one of the time they almost got caught, but it hasn’t stopped them yet.

It doesn’t take long for both of them to start grunting and groaning, one of his hands locked on her waist and the other flicking at Ashe’s clit as they pound against each other relentlessly. He loses himself first in a burst of bright heat and ecstasy, vision almost going white as he feels himself spill inside her. His fingers play over her clit, a few gentle tugs and hard rubs, and then she is convulsing around him. He groans and shudders again, holding her in place, fingers working her through it until he can feel her sag against the wall, legs wobbly.

Ashe pants, straightening up carefully to let him linger inside her a little longer. He appreciates it, as little aftershocks course through her. He pulls out, tucking himself back inside his pants hastily. She pulls up her own clothes, and turns to face him. He’s pretty sure the shit-eating grin spread across his face is mirrored on hers.

“So, you got your forfeit, now you’re gonna take my cash?” He brushes hair off the side of her face, tucks it behind one of her ears.

“Might see to letting you keep your cash if you think you can do that again tonight.”

“I’ll be up for it,” he says with a grin.

“Race you back.”

“What’re the stakes?” He can’t help himself; he likes a good gamble.

“You win, you can keep the cash.”

“I win, I keep the cash _and_ I screw you into the sheets.”

Ashe turns, and grins at him. “Might see myself to losin’ just for that.”


End file.
